In the Beginning
by Cingularity
Summary: It is not easy to be an Englishman in an organization filled with Americans. Set in the early days of Jones's career in the IGI.


Hello Friends!

This is a new category on FanFiction. I got this created, and this is the first fic of the IGI fandom.

This fic is set in the early days of David Jones's career at the IGI, before any of the missions ever took place. For all I know, I may not get a single view, let alone review, on this fic, for it is a completely new fandom. I can only hope that this classic PC game does not go ignored for long on this site.

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It was his last day on English soil for a long time to come. He was the only one from the SAS to have been called for training at the IGI. This was not because the SAS lacked talented commandos, but because the English generally looked down upon the American-dominated IGI. Add to that the fact that the IGI actually wanted them to train. Train under the Americans. Elite English soldiers serving Her Majesty prefer death over disgrace, and would never train under those lowly Americans.

A stiff-upper-lipped Captain of his unit had once said, "Do those Americans really think we're going to train under them? What makes them think the world even needs the IGI, when there is the SAS?" That was the Captain's knee-jerk reaction to the letter from the IGI asking for recruits.

David Jones, however, was known for his defiance. He had a tough time taking orders from his seniors, and had narrowly escaped court-martial on multiple occasions. He jumped at this opportunity. At least, he would get to try something new. Something beyond the routine of making forced entrances into buildings through windows, and having his entire unit make a sieve out of a single terrorist with thirty, at times even more, simultaneous shots.

He preferred to work alone. That was something the SAS, or just about any sane military organization, would never allow. "Americans are known to be insane," he thought to himself as he weighed his options, "Is there a slight possibility, a very slight possibility, a very, very slight possibility, that they'll allow me to go solo? There's a good chance, since I'm not one of their own. They won't hesitate to risk me if I ask for it. Or will they?" Just that slight possibility was enough. He had made up his mind. He put in his papers at the SAS headquarters.

"Second-Lieutenant David Jones, of Her Majesty's Special Air Service," he thought to himself with a smile on his lips, "is no more!"

He packed his meager wants into a suitcase, readied his travel documents, and dozed off in his one-room London apartment, with one last thought, "It shall no longer be business as usual."

The next day, he found himself before an impressive and imposing structure in Brussels. This ten-storey tall, sprawling monstrosity is what the IGI called its Headquarters. The first thought that crossed his mind as he stood agape: "And I thought the IGI was a secret organization."

The guard verified his credentials, and the receptionist directed him to the chamber of an officer.

"Good morning, Captain Phillip White sir," he beamed as he stood in attention. "Have a seat, English. And call me White. I've never understood British mannerisms." White spoke in his usual carefree attitude, with his legs resting on the table, in a position that Jones found rather uncomfortable, not to mention unprofessional. "Americans!" he thought to himself.

"So you're from the SAS?"

"Yes sir"

"That'll be White. Learn some American talk, English. You're the only one from that island here. Oh, and while you're at it, don't bother to relearn the spelling of defence. You're not gonna need it. IGI always attacks; never defends. No one else from SAS?"

"No sir. I mean White."

"Thought so," White added with a smirk, "You're a fast learner. You'll get through the training pretty quick."

"What must I learn? I served in the SAS. I'm already trained."

"Oh, but you ain't trained in IGI equipment and tactics. By our standards, SAS is a police unit. No more capable than SWAT. Probably even less."

An indignant Jones began, "Allow me to remind you…"

White interrupted, "Iranian Embassy, Flight 181, Falklands, Mirbat, I know, I know. But there's the problem. I know. Everyone does. Because you were too loud. Way too loud. If the IGI had handled that stuff, no one would know. Don't worry. You'll learn."

"How long does the training last?"

"Nine weeks. You'll train with a bunch o' Navy SEALs that'll touch down tomorrow. Your training begins the day after. Make yourself comfortable here. The dorms are on the ninth and tenth floors. You'll be alone in room number 5 on the ninth floor for now. Tomorrow, you'll be sharing it with nine SEALs. Any more questions?"

"No."

"Good. You may leave now."

"Thank you."

Jones walked out of White's office, and looked for the lift.

"Where's the lift?" he asked the receptionist. "I'm sorry?" the baffled receptionist looked at him with a questioning gaze. "The lift. I want to go up. To the ninth floor." "You mean the elevator?" "Yes, yes. That's probably what the Americans call it." "At the end of this corridor." "Thank you."

"Elevator. The Americans call it elevator," he made a mental note as he walked down the corridor.

At the end, he found the lift. As the doors closed in on the corridor, he heard a female voice call out, "Hey! Wait!" He pressed a button to open the door, and a girl barged in. Jones could not help but admire the beauty with the golden, cropped hair that just ended below her neck, and curved slightly inwards. The girl caught him staring, and asked, "Are you new here?"

"Ye… Yes. I'm David Jones, from the SAS. Just arrived today."

The girl extended a hand. "I'm Sergeant First Class Anya."

Jones shook her hand in disbelief. Decadent thoughts filled his mind, although he could not remember the last time he dated a girl. Was it in the SAS? No. Royal Marines? No. High school? Still no. Maybe junior school. "No, not with an American," he quickly shook off the thoughts as the lift sounded a beep to indicate that it had reached the eighth floor.

"Um… David… I need to get off." Jones realized that he was still shaking her hand. "Oh, sorry."

As the door closed in on the narrow corridor, Jones read, "Command Center." "American spellings!" he thought, before realizing with a jerk, "Wait! Did that girl just call me David? Surely, it's not quite the American way of doing things to address strangers by their first names. White would have done so, otherwise."

The lift beeped again.

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The satisfaction of being the first in a fandom is hard to beat!


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